


Princess in Purple Prose

by FootlessData507



Series: Tremendously Stupid Writing Club Prompts [2]
Category: The Princess Diaries - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, F/M, Humor, Parody, Purple Prose, Romance Novel, Some references to the books, Writing Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2019-06-10 17:32:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15296520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FootlessData507/pseuds/FootlessData507
Summary: A scene from the first Princess Diaries movie rewritten in the style of a romance novel. Because that was a writing prompt I was given.





	Princess in Purple Prose

**Author's Note:**

> A while ago my writing group had an activity where we were each randomly assigned a different genre and told to rewrite a scene from the Princess Diaries in the style of that genre. I got romance, and I recently came across my scene as I was digging through some old files. So here it is.
> 
> This is not intended as a slam to romance novels, and I understand there's a lot of variety in the genre, but the point of the exercise was to be as stereotypical as possible, so here's hoping I succeeded...

            Mia sat at her desk, deep in thought.  Her grandmother, Lilly, Michael--who had she _not_ disappointed lately?  All to be humiliated and exploited at the Baker Beach Bash?

            When the doorbell blared, she considered barricading the door.  Clearly she was not fit for human company.  She should just be considered a lost cause and confined to some rarely visited wing of the Genovian palace.

            Not that she would be going to Genovia now…

            The doorbell sounded again.

            “Oh! Uh ... it's open. Come on in.”  She turned off the TV and wondered who it could be.  

            But her heart was already answering that question.  Every beat pounded against her heaving bosom _Mi-chael, Mi-chael, Mi-chael--_ was it hope or premonition?  And then the man himself sloped into the room and her heart slammed against her ribcage, desperate for its other half, its other half housed under the orange, short-sleeved button down shirt of the man just a few steps from her.  He swung keys from his fingers--what would those fingers be like running through her hair, caressing her cheek--

            If Mia felt like she was on fire, Michael was experiencing the opposite sensation.  He got a whiff of her scent--chalk and oil paint--and his stomach felt like it was filled with a gallon of ice water.  Just come in, drop off the keys, and get out--it will only take a minute.  That’s what he had told himself.  But now that he was there, cold sweat was tumbling from his forehead, and he hoped to God that his long bangs were hiding his perspiration.

            Mia looked amazing.

            Granted Mia always looked amazing-- _had_ always looked amazing, even before the whole princess makeover thing.  He didn’t think she was beautiful because of her silky chestnut tresses--indeed, he’d been fine with her frizzy, full mop of hair that she’d had before, hair that looked like his fingers could have gotten stuck in it, in the unlikely event that he would be running his fingers through it. He’d loved her old eyebrows; he’d loved her glasses.

            Truth be told, he’d just loved _Mia._ He had back when she’d been a scabby-kneed kid wearing a skort and a too-big-for-her Free Winona T-shirt covered with cat fur.  And now that she was tall and grown up and curvy everywhere it counted--

            He swallowed hard, reminding himself to _keep it together, keep it together._

            “Michael!” she cried, rising from her seat.  “Hi!  Um, how are you?”

            Michael didn’t say anything, just tapped his nose, and Mia couldn’t help but to admire his nose--large and prominent, lurching from his face, and she felt sure that if they were ever to kiss, she would feel it--hard and firm--pressing against her cheek.

            Michael--hard and firm--pressing against her--her legs almost gave out from under her, but Michael didn’t seem to realize the effect his mere presence was having on her.  He was still tapping his nose.

            She could barely speak through her numb lips.  “What?”

            Michael tapped his nose again.  “Little guy on your…”

            Her acne nose strip!  Mia whipped around, her face now tomato red.

            What would she do?  What could she do?

            Rip it off, of course--how painful could it be in comparison to the ache crying out from every nerve of her body?

            She tore it off and--very painful!  The answer was _very_ painful!  But, clutching her throbbing nose, she rallied, and turned to face her beloved.  “Um…” scrunching her nose in the hope that the pain would dissipate, “did Lilly tell you that I called because I, uh, called…”  She’d called seven times, to be precise, and while she tried to explain that, Michael raised the keys he’d been jangling.

            “I brought your...car.”  He set the keys on the table that separated them.  “Doc said that he fixed what he could, and if you had any problems, give him a call.”

            OK, he’d delivered the keys.  Now he could go.  But his feet were rooted to the loft’s linoleum floor.  He couldn’t move.  His very body was refusing to leave her presence.

            Oh God, he couldn’t move.  Oh God--hadn’t he humiliated himself in front of Mia enough?

            Images flashed before his eyes--Mia living the rest of her life while he stood there motionless in the loft, watching her get ready for dates, watching her bring over Josh Bryant to meet her mother, watching her pack up to move to Genovia…he would be this awkward teenage boy just standing there, rooted in place, over time amassing a collection of hats and scarves as Mia and her mother started using him as a coatrack, and occasionally one of Mia’s increasingly handsome suitors would ask why there was a shrimpy, big-nosed nerd with a Beatles haircut frozen in place, and Mia would breezily reply, “Oh, that’s just my friend’s geeky brother.  Don’t pay any attention to him.  I don’t.”

            The only silver lining about this situation was that Mia hadn’t yet noticed the panic in his eyes.  His bangs were still covering them.

            “Oh, OK,” Mia replied.  “Do you want the check now? Because I have the last payment, and…”

            Michael seemed to want to look anywhere but at her, so he glanced to his side, his dark brown bangs falling over his brow, giving him the appearance of having a unibrow.  It took all of Mia’s self restraint not to rush over to him and sweep the bangs to the side, so she could see the strong, graceful eyebrows and the warm, brown eyes they hid.

            “Yeah, thank you,” said Michael in response to the question Mia felt she’d asked an eternity ago.  Michael turned to the side, and Mia stepped to the desk before she became wholly absorbed in admiring his eyelashes, so remarkably long and thick...and yet not unmasculine.  

            She rifled through her desk drawer, passing over the car payment again and again in her attempt to compose herself.

            Why had she never noticed those lashes before?  Why had she never noticed Michael before?  Why had she never noticed that Michael--quiet, thoughtful, creative, generous--was the only man she could ever truly love?  Had she been blind or shallow, or just very, very stupid?

            What must he think of her?  Blind, shallow, stupid--or maybe there was still hope?  He had come, hadn’t he?  He didn’t seem angry, just awkward, which was par for the course for Michael Moscovitz.  Par for the course for her, as well.  Why had she never realized how perfect they were for each other?  It seemed so obvious now!

            In reality, Michael Moscovitz didn’t think Mia Thermopolis was blind, shallow or stupid.  Why had she canceled their plans when Josh had asked her out?  Because...because Josh had asked her out.  And if a girl had the chance to go out with Josh, no way was she going to choose the invisible nerd in the corner.

            “Are you hungry or thirsty?” Mia heard herself asking, thinking to herself that _she_ , at least, could sure do with a tall drink of water to cool down.

            “No,” was Michael’s answer.  Accepting any offers of food or drink might require him to, you know, _move._ Which he was finding difficult to do at that moment.

            Plus, she was just being nice.  Of course she was being nice, because she was Mia.  And Mia was nice.  But come on, he knew that to her, he was just her dorky best friend’s dorkier brother.

            “Oh,” Mia’s fingers clutched at the envelope.  “Here it is.”  She turned around and stepped towards Michael, the blood in her fingers, her extremities closest to Michael, pulsing rapidly.  “Um, look…” she took another step forward, and the air seemed to crackle, like she was underneath power lines.  Did he feel it, too?  “Thank you so much for doing this for me.  It’s really,” she tried to emphasize the next word as much as her numb lips would allow, “ _really_ great of you.”

            “I didn’t do it for you,” Michael corrected her, swallowing hard, his chest tightening at that wide smile on her face, in particular that crinkle around her eyes that always showed up when she smiled.  You could even see it through her glasses.  Not that she was wearing them right now.  Because she was, of course, a princess.  And princesses didn’t wear glasses.  Or date people who looked like the lovechild of that guy from _Rushmore_ and Ringo Starr. So he tried to explain that the labor he’d done on her car had not been a labor of love.  Just the regular kind of labor.  “Doc lets the band practice…”

            “Right, of course,” Mia jabbered at the same time.

            “I help with the cars,” he finished.

            Mia didn’t know what else to do. She almost wanted to hold back the envelope, because as long as she held on to it, there was an obligation between them--as long as she held this envelope, they were trapped in each other’s webs…

            But no, Michael didn’t deserve that. If he wanted to leave, she would not stand in his way. She placed the payment on the table between them.

            “Oh, thanks,” Michael said, looking down at the table once more, looking _anywhere_ but at her because he didn’t want to see her bewitching dark eyes, her creamy skin, or her adorable nose--still slightly red from the acne strip.

            And he definitely didn’t want to see the pity that was sure to be gracing her features.   

            Meanwhile, something had occurred to Mia.  He was going to go soon.  There was no reason for him to stay.  And yet...he was just standing there, not approaching the door…maybe--maybe it wasn’t hopeless after all…

            Maybe his heart was hammering in his chest, too.   _Mi-a, Mi-a, Mi-a._

            Well...maybe.  She had to find out, at least.  A life without Michael would be a half life, but a life without even _trying_ wouldn’t be a life at all.

            “I know you’re still mad at me for blowing you off and…I’m really sorry I did,” Mia said.

            As she spoke, Michael fumbled with a mask that had been sitting on the table.  Mad at her.  She thought he was mad at her?  Ha.  If anything, he was mad at himself.  What an _idiot_ he’d been thinking that she could ever like _him_!  In a weird way, it had made perfect sense when he’d found out she was a princess.  Because of course she’d always been meant for better things, better places, and better people.  Now it was just official.

            Mia gulped and continued.  “But I am going to try to make it up to you.”

            Michael’s heart was racing.  He was starting to hope--and that was a very stupid thing to do.  His blood was pumping quickly now, and he could feel a blush overtaking his vitamin D deprived complexion.  So he did the only thing he could think to do: he put on the mask he’d been toying with.

            Mia was almost grateful that he was shielding her from his warm, chocolate eyes, his delicious lips, and his floppy dark hair.  She didn’t know how much more she could take.

            Michael, on the other hand, just wanted a moment to let his blush fade, just wanted to hide his eagerness from someone who he was sure didn’t care about him.  “How?” he asked a soft voice, trying to drain all emotion from the word.

            Mia couldn’t understand how he did that.  How did he obliterate all her defenses and make her heart thrill and make her palms sweat when she couldn’t even see him?

            Mia choked for a moment, but _no,_ this was too important--she had to continue.  “Well, I’m still going…” she said, “to the Genovian Independence Day ball and...I’m inviting you.”

            She was inviting him to a ball--Michael was soaring to space--he might as well be piloting an X-Wing--wait a minute--she was inviting him to a ball to make it up to him.  Michael’s X-Wing impacted on the surface of the Death Star.  This wasn’t a _date_.  This was an _apology._ She was being gracious because it was the right thing to do--the princess thing to do--the Mia thing to do.  But he didn’t want to go on a date with someone--even if that someone was Mia--if they were only asking him because they felt obligated to.

            His blush had receded.  The tightening that had been plaguing his body ever since his first glance of Mia loosened.

            Michael put down the mask and probed her with his peat-brown eyes, and Mia felt like she was sinking into a peat bog, warm and smothering, and she could feel it creeping up her body. caressing every inch of her.  She had to speak now before she lost the ability altogether.  “It could be fun, you know.  I’m wearing this great dress that I can’t breathe in, and Lilly’s got a date…”

            Ignoring the mental image of Mia in some tight dress she could barely breathe in, Michael shook his head.  “Josh looks better in a tux.”  Michael’s bangs fell over his eyes once more.

            And Mia was out of the peat, outside, with cold rain splashing against her.  “But, see, it’s…” She felt like she did during her debate class, only 1000 times worse.  There must be words that could make everything better, but she just couldn’t get them out.  “I really want you to be the one I share it with.”

            Why didn’t he understand?  Why couldn’t he see that she wanted him to be the one she shared all her dances with, all her kisses with, all her days with, all her nights with?

            “You don’t have to wear a tux,” she said quickly.  “You can wear sweatpants for all I care.”

            But Michael had a feeling Mia cared as little for him as she did about his hypothetical clothing.  Suddenly he found he could move again.  He stepped away, turning his back to Mia.  “Don’t worry about me.  I just consider myself royally flushed.”

            It felt like Mia’s heart had at last succeeded in escaping her chest but had flopped to the floor, where Michael was stomping it with his Converses, but in reality what he did was pick up the envelope, bow, place the envelope between his teeth, leave the loft, and leave Mia’s life.

            Mia clutched her nose and whimpered “Ow,” but she knew it wasn’t her stinging nose that was really hurting her.

            Michael--the boy she’d ignored.  Michael--the suitor she’d jilted.  Michael--the man she loved--that wonderful creation of bone and muscle and sinew, crowned by a mop-top hairdo, living a life wholly separate from hers?  Mia wished she could curse the Fates, wished she could understand this tragedy as a cruel joke a heartless universe was playing on her--but no balm was to be found there.  This heartache was not the outcome of divine equations wholly beyond her control.

            No.  Mia had brought this on herself.  All for the hollow words and false smiles of Josh Bryant.  It was as if she had given up Eden for an apple...and then upon biting past the apple’s crimson, seductive skin, had found it spoiled and wormy. So like a Red Delicious apple, basically, because those things were disgusting.

            ...and her foot hadn’t even popped.

            Michael, her best friend’s brother, her classmate, her automobile mechanic--but never to be her _Michael_?  And Mia, never to be his _Mia_?

            Oh, but she would be his Mia--she already _was_ his Mia, for now and forever, even if he never knew it--

            But he must--he _must_ know it!

            Mia raced to the window and pressed her body against it and she wanted to scream--scream what exactly?

            Michael, come back!  Michael, it’s you--it could only be you!  Michael, hold me!  Michael, I’m sorry…

            But the words melted in her mouth before Michael could hear them.  Outside the loft, he removed the envelope from his mouth and replaced it with his harmonica. His song was slow and sad, and he headed home.


End file.
